


The Gift

by Fadesintothewest



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Laws and Customs, M/M, Philosophy, Songs of Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4645257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadesintothewest/pseuds/Fadesintothewest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon is called to guide Finrod in an ancient ritual that leads to a rift between Maedhros and Fingon. Will Finrod be able to heal that rift?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Calling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> My Ardor in August request was:  
> Rating up to = NC-17
> 
> Requested pairing = Anything about Finrod (gen, or paired with any of: Beor, Celebrimbor, Fingon, Maedhros, Fingon & Maedhros, Maglor, Daeron, Daeron & Maglor). (Or 'all of the above' is good too, if you can make it work! *grin*) Galadriel, Aegnor, Angrod, and Orodreth are welcome to be featured in the story as well, in their canon pairings.
> 
> Story elements = Hope, debunking of Laws & Customs of the Eldar, discussions about philosophy, someone playing with Finrod's hair, songs of power, and above all else, love.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope I achieved it! Unbeta'd. Apologies for the mistakes I missed.

Chapter 1: The Calling

 

Findaráto woke up from his dream, sweat on his brow. He had been called. Of course he would be called, though less and less of the Noldor who had crossed the seas were being called, but as a scion of Finwë, of the Noldóran, Findaráto would be called as he was on this magical, silvery evening. He counted himself lucky. Unlike his father who found his way with a distant cousin, Findaráto had dreamt of one he admired: his cousin Findekáno.

 

The ritual, the calling, was the doorway to the Songs of Power, a conjuring few had the power to exercise in the lands now counted as home for the Noldor of Tirion on Tuna. The Gift, as it was called, harkened to the early days of the Eldar, to a time before Laws had been dreamt up to forbid and punish those who dared tread outside the narrow confines of Amanian society. The union of body between men and women was entirely proscribed by the Laws and Customs that governed the Eldar in Elvenhome, outlining those acts that were allowed, and those forbidden. Yet the ritual of the Gift was awakened by carnal desire that led to the elemental currents of the Music from which Power could be woven into Song. And as scions of Finwë, the calling was intense, unavoidable and for the abundant third generation, that calling did not always summon a man for a woman or a man for woman. Carnal acts were forbidden between what was referred to as “the same sex” in Elvenhome and that was enough to make the ritual risky and entirely covert.

 

Findaráto shifted uncomfortably, his erection straining against his tunic. Sitting up, Findaráto pulled the shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor next to his bed. Lying back onto his pillow, he reached his hand down to relieve himself, but the image of the one he dreamed of invaded his mind. Findaráto found he struggled to pleasure himself with thoughts of his cousin. Findaráto bit down on his lips, fighting the temptation to stroke himself, but the image of Findekáno looking up at him, his lips around his cock, was too powerful. Findaráto allowed his hands to stretch and pull, until his hand was thrusting rhythmically, bringing himself to completion.

 

Findaráto relaxed, allowing his breathing to calm, his muscles to unwind. Sitting up, he gathered his soiled sheet, tossing it to the ground next to his tunic. Findekáno surely would have had the same dream on that very evening. It was the way of the Gift, but Findaráto was unhappy that Findekáno had been called. Yes he was beautiful and kind but there was more to it. The ritual--a magic that operated beyond their understanding-- was not insensitive, only calling on those unbound to perform it, but that which was Maitimo and Findekáno muddied the uneasy acceptance and understanding the scions of Finwë had constructed around the Gift.

 

Those born in Aman, and every generation thereafter struggled with the physical act of the ritual being influenced by the Laws and Customs that constrained them. For the newer generations, the ritual demanded more of the psyches made in the new world of the Blessed Realm. So much so Finwë believed the ritual would die out, would come to a point where it was refused and the power inherent to them would be lost, but just as potent was the divide between the son of Miriel and the children of Indis. Findis did not heed the call and the remaining of his children had been served well by more distant kin that had Journeyed and they in turn served those blood related to Finwë on this side of the seas, but the power was most potent when shared between close kin and that under Valarin code was entirely forbidden.

 

Findaráto stretched out on his bed, relishing the feel of the night breezes on his skin. With his breath he followed the patterns of the breeze wondering where his dreams would take him once more. Across the night the breeze played with another who had similarly awoken with a start, but this person was not alone.

 

)()()()(

 

Findekáno woke with a start. Calming his nerves Findekáno looked upon the figure next to him. Maitimo was yet asleep. Sighing in relief, Findekáno turned to face away from Maitimo. He did not want his lover to find him so aroused and Findekáno dared not allow himself to fulfill his desires in this moment for well he knew that Maitimo would not be what he desired.  Instead, his mind drifted back to Findaráto, lips parted, moaning, crying out. Findekáno recognized he had been called. _Why me?_ he cursed the ancient ritual, but he understood that he had been called because he was not bound, could not be bound to the one he loved for it was forbidden. It was a cruel irony to be obliged by a forbidden custom and be punished by it nevertheless for he could not bind himself to the one he loved above all. Findekáno would do this for Findaráto. How would he tell Maitimo, he did not know, had no idea what to say? In this Findekáno was alone. Findekáno pulled the sheet over his body, the breeze tempted him, teasing, tickling his skin. _Not tonight,_ Findekáno asserted to himself.

 

)()()()(

 

The golden light of Laurelin spilled into their room, warming and inviting those asleep to awaken and greet the new light. Maitimo’s eyes fluttered open. Turning to hug Findekáno he found an empty spot. Surveying the room, Maitimo found Findekáno standing on the balcony looking out to the valley below and the Bay of Eldamar beyond. Knowing Maitimo had awakened, Findekáno spoke, though he dreaded Maitimo’s response: “We hear the echoes of the Music that made the world in the ocean.” Turning to face Maitimo Findekáno continued, “Do you ever wonder why the Valar have not quelled this Song in the deep waters?”

 

Maitimo wore his confusion openly, but answered Findekáno, “Because they cannot.”

 

“Precisely,” Findekáno responded, though it did little to settle Maitimo’s confusion. Coming to sit next to Maitimo on the bed, Findekáno settled, allowing his body to lightly touch Maitimo’s. “Indeed, there is much that the Valar and those who follow them would wish could be silenced,” Findekáno spoke, allowing his fingers to caress Maitimo’s face. Maitimo leaned into his lover’s hands. “I have been called,” Findekáno admitted, his hand falling to his lap.

 

Maitimo sat back, startled by the words Findekáno shared with him. Though he understood what Findekáno said to him, a part of him refused to hear it. “What do you mean you have been called, Findekáno?”

 

Findekáno hesitated. He had correctly anticipated Maitimo’s reaction. “I have been called to perform the old rites.”

 

“You must refuse them,” Maitimo insisted, though in the back of his mind he knew Findekáno would not refuse the calling. Maitimo would not refuse it if it had come to him.

 

“I cannot refuse it,” Findekáno implored. “You know refusing it means I refuse you...means that I am just as intolerant as the Laws and Customs would have us be.”

 

Maitimo shook his head in anger. “Who have you been called for?” he demanded.

 

“Findaráto,” Findekáno whispered, his hand reaching out towards Maitimo. Maitimo leaned away from Findekáno’s touch. “Maitimo please,” Findekáno begged.

 

Maitimo stood from the bed and began gathering his clothes. “I need time to come to terms with this,” Maitimo offered, facing away from Findekáno. He did not want him to see the devastation that now marred his features. It was the best he could offer.

 

Findekáno stood but did not approach Maitimo who had his back to him. Findekáno watched helplessly as Maitimo quickly put on his clothes.

 

Slipping on his boots, Maitimo hesitated before whispering. “I take my leave. Do not come look for me until I send you word.” Maitimo headed for the door only to be impeded by Findekáno who grabbed his arm and pulled him back into an embrace from behind. Findekáno whispered into his ear, “I love you more than my own life.” Maitimo fought the urge to turn and kiss him. Pulling out of his embrace, Maitimo opened the door and quietly let himself out. Findekáno allowed Maitimo’s gentle escape.

 

Findekáno made his way back to the balcony. From here he watched Maitimo depart. Not once did Maitimo turn to look up at him. He watched the waters shimmer, catch the light that reached through the pass of Calacirya, the Cleft of Light. Allowing his mind to empty, Findekáno stretched himself so that he might hear the whispers of the music. Finding it, he allowed himself to lean into the texture of the Music, faint, but present. He could understand why his cousins by the sea refused to be sundered from the Music. It was a precious gift, a reminder of the lands of their birth.  Mind made up, Findekáno made his way to his receiving room, sat at his desk and wrote a note:

 

“ _Findaráto,_

_I am called to you. I will fulfill my part. I know it is a strange thing I was called and there will be issues we must face as a result, but do know that I am honored to be called for you._

_Yours,_

_Findekáno_ ”

 

 

 

Once downstairs, a messenger approached Findekáno as if reading his mind, but he bore a message for Findekáno from Findaráto.

 

The messenger was about to excuse himself but Findekáno bid him wait while he read his cousin’s note:

 

“ _Dearest Findekáno,_

_I am sure you know the contents this note before even reading it. I have been called and you have been shown to me as my guide. I can think of no other I would want to share this with, but I know that there are things beyond me that we must account for. I await your reply._

_Yours,_

_Findaráto_ ”

 

Findekáno folded the note and tucked it away in a pocket. “Take this to Findaráto immediately,” Findekáno directed, handing the note he had written earlier to the messenger.

 

“Of course my lord,” the messenger replied, taking his leave and disappearing to do his duty.

 

Findekáno took in a deep breath as his eyes scanned the gardens that welcomed visitors to his parents’ home. Somehow he and Maitimo would work through this. How, he did not know, but now he must ready himself for Findaráto. Knowing his father would be in his study, Findekáno made haste to find his father. Findekáno found himself pause outside the large wood doors upon which the symbol of his father’s house was carved. The symbol seemed to reverberate with a strange vividness. Findekáno’s mind was playing tricks on him. Gathering his wit, Findekáno knocked on the door.

 

“Come in,” Nolofinwë answered distractedly, his eyes focused on a stack of documents on his desk. It was a large study that sat within the tower portion of the home. From here, Nolofinwë commanded complete view of the valleys that stretched to the west and east, and the mountains that loomed to the North and South. A great open hearth sat in the heart of the room. Somehow the architecture of the room was engineered in such a way that the smoke was carried up and into the spires that sat on the rooftop. A fire was simmering in the hearth. It was the first thing Findekáno laid his eyes upon as he entered the room.

 

Nolofinwë looked up from his papers. “Findekáno, what is wrong?” he asked, his attention fully upon his son.

 

Of course Nolofinwë would notice that Findekáno had much on his mind. Little could Findekáno hide his emotions from his father. It was perhaps because Findekáno wore them so openly. There was no choice but to be direct. “I have been called.”

 

Nolofinwë sat back in his chair, his eyes looking thoughtfully at his son. “Who have you been called to guide?” Nolofinwë asked, understanding that the look on Findekáno’s face meant that the calling of Findekáno breached Valarin code.

 

“Findaráto,” Findekáno answered simply, holding his father’s gaze.

 

“I see,” Nolofinwë replied, standing up. Findekáno did not move, his hands clasped behind his back. “Will you do it?” Nolofinwë asked, knowing the answer, but he thought this the best way to get to the heart of Findekáno’s fears.

 

“I will,” Findekáno answered.

 

Nolofinwë walked over to one of the large windows in his tower study. Watching the hustle and bustle of Tirion below, Nolofinwë considered the increased danger every time the calling came. How long could his father’s house continue with the ritual? How long before the Valar found out and intervened? And what if they were discovered? What if Findaráto and Findekáno were discovered? As if reading his father’s mind, Findekáno, standing by his father, answered, “If Findaráto and I are discovered our lives are doubly forfeit.”

 

Nolofinwë raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. You would be breaking two of the codes of the Laws and Customs.” Nolofinwë turned to face Findekáno. “No doubt Findaráto is in this same moment speaking with his father.” Nolofinwë gently raised Findekáno’s chin. “Arafinwë will invite us to Alqualondë. We will travel there as a family. We will be safe there and you can do this for Findaráto, just as Lirulin did for you.”

 

Findekáno nodded his head, managing a smile. “She certainly dared to incur a different type of wrath.”

 

Nolofinwë grinned broadly. “Yes, not only did she break the Laws of consanguinity she also dared the wrath of my sister Findis. I will always be grateful to her for her bravery.”

 

“As will I,” Findekáno responded, thinking of his cousin Lirulin, eldest daughter of Findis. Though he saw her rarely for they dwelt in Valmar. Thinking back to the matter at hand, Findekáno thought aloud, “Who will Findaráto ask to complete the ritual?”

 

Nolofinwë shrugged his shoulders. “I imagine that one of his brothers and maybe Artanis and most likely Makalaurë.”

 

Findekáno shook his head in agreement, of course Makalaurë. He was the favored choice in recent times for the innate power of music he possessed.  Makalaurë welcomed being the guide into Song: such opportunities to witness new aspects of the Songs of Power unique to the individual undergoing the ritual. Indeed Makalaurë’s role posed no danger to him. He broke no codes, only coming into the ritual after the fulfillment of the body’s desire.

 

“Why do the Valar fear that we posses the Songs of Power?” Findekáno asked his father.

 

Nolofinwë grunted, “You have been influenced too much by Maitimo, my son.” Findekáno was about to protest but a single look from Nolofinwë dissuaded him. “No Findekáno, it is not as simple as fear.” Nolofinwë turned his attention back on the city below. “The Valar operate in a mindscape we cannot comprehend. Some of them see what has yet to come not in the way we think about foresight. Imagine,” Nolofinwë spoke his eyes focused on the coming and going of merchants, “that you live in a moment where the past, the present, and the future all interact. Time and space for them dissolves. They don’t possess thought in the same way you and I do. Theirs is more instinctual.”

 

“Which makes them poor judges of elven worldviews,” Findekáno retorted.

 

Nolofinwë did not argue with Findekáno. “I try to understand what it must be like for the Valar to bring that knowledge they posses, to cross it into the realm of thought, for that is what they do when they choose bodily form. Whatever it is they see, they believe it best to impose the Laws and Customs upon us amongst many other codes that they believe will prevent whatever it is they see.”

 

“Prevent?” Findekáno queried.

 

“Yes, prevent,” Nolofinwë answered.  “Undoubtedly something in the future disturbs them so, something so intimately tied to our true nature, that they wish to confine it.” Nolofinwë straightened up. “They make poor rulers. Rather than trust us and allow Eru’s will be, they are confused by it.”

 

“Heresy,” Findekáno opined, a twinkle in his eye.

 

A sly grin appeared on Nolofinwë’s face. “Let us make haste for we have many Laws and Customs to break.”

 

Findekáno embraced his father. Nolofinwë could always temper the fear and apprehension in Findekáno’s heart.

 


	2. The Giver and the Receiver

Findaráto sucked in his breath. Just what did Findekáno think he was doing? Was this how it was supposed to happen? “C-c-cousin?” he breathed though he could barely make the words come out.

 

Findekáno’s head popped up from between Findaráto’s legs. Wiping his mouth, Findekáno answered, pretending offence, “I am only doing what you requested of me!”

 

Findaráto let out a breathless “Oh”.

 

“Do you want me to proceed?” Findekáno asked, his fingers softly touching Findaráto, causing him to twitch. Looking up from beneath his lashes, Findekáno spoke, “Tis this not what you asked me to show you, what was asked for me to do for you?”

 

Findaráto shook his head in agreement, causing the golden hair piled on the top of his head in a loose knot to come undone. Findaráto felt Findekáno’s fingers trace his hard shaft once more. Hissing, Findaráto managed to breathe a rough, “Yes”. Findekáno said not another word, turning his attention, and his mouth, back on that part of Findaráto that protruded towards him. This time Findekáno gently urged Findaráto to sit back, pushing him back against the couch with one hand while his other hand traced Findaráto’s balls. With his mouth he swallowed Findaráto’s cock, slowly sucking as his mouth consumed his length.

 

Findekáno was good. He could take Findaráto’s length without gagging. He was practiced and quite adept. He loved watching how the blood colored his cousin’s face pink. He looked perfectly divine, mouth open, breathing hard, lips full and rosy colored, his golden hair loosed about his fact. Findekáno watched as he took Findaráto to the place he wanted him to be. With the hand that was tracing and teasing Findaráto’s balls, he let his finger trail further below, allowing his finger to massage his cousin’s rim. Findaráto bucked beneath him, his eyes fluttering open. Were they supposed to enjoy this so much?

 

Findaráto’s eyes burned with desires. All he could manage was an “Eru please…” and the thought momentarily intruded his desire: _strange that I ask for Eru’s assistance in this most profane and lewd act. Surely he will not hear my pleas!_ But then the sweetest, most mind blowing, visceral sensation he could imagine and experience was upon him. Findekáno’s fingers had found their way within him and were stroking a place within him. Findaráto found his voice, “Finno!” Findekáno had found the doorway to the most sacred thing within him and he was expertly bringing him close to edge of a place he had never been, that he did not know he had in him. The combination of what Findekáno was doing with his mouth and fingers was somehow making him come apart, dissolve.

 

Findaráto turned his head to the side, biting the cushion of the couch, allowing the most deep and sonorous groan to escape from his mouth. Over and over, he cried out for completion. _Eru!!_ Findaráto’s thoughts screamed out silently, though he was sure that his thoughts took on matter in some part of the Song. _Eru_ , he cried out, repeatedly. _Findekáno,_ he managed but the only sound he could hear was the sound of his voice demanding, moaning, supplicating his desire to break.

 

Blinding light: the very center of the cosmos. Findaráto was fallen over the edge of desire into utter ecstasy. So this is why such acts were condemned, Findaráto realized, as he drifted in this new place only accessible by the sacred manipulation of one’s very being. It was utter peace. Findaráto had never experienced himself more fully, more in the moment and one with time. Thought was different. Was it thought? No. It was sensation, entirely corporeal. Divinity.

 

Slowly, Findaráto found himself falling back towards his body, though shockwave after shockwave of desire would propel him once more to that gooey dark place at his center. After a time, the sensations no longer erupted. They gentled, lulling him like waves gently breaking on the shore, to consciousness. He was in Findekáno’s arms. Findekáno kissed his cheek chastely. “Come back to me Ingo,” Findekáno whispered, “come back and find yourself.”  Findaráto’s eyes focused on the figure of Findekáno. Shuddering, Findaráto let himself relax entirely in his cousin’s arms. He could not find his voice. Findaráto did not, for once, know what to say.

 

Findekáno soothed him saying no more. He could feel Findaráto’s hot breath on his neck. With every inhale and exhale, Findekáno could feel and hear Findaráto’ breath slowing, regularizing. He envied Findaráto this moment, but that feeling was fleeting. The envy was entirely about lovers: while Findaráto would leave this moment and enter into a bond approved by the Laws and Customs, Findekáno would once more return to his life, repeating ecstasy, only to know he could not bind himself to the one he loved lest his life be forfeit. Findekáno pressed his nose into Findaráto’s hair, breathing him in, his mind registering Findaráto’s scent. With his fingers he played with the golden strands of Findaráto’s hair, passing them through his fingers. Findekáno enjoyed this intimacy with his cousin. He would always remember this silver night at his uncle’s home when Findaráto had asked for the Gift and Findekáno had obliged him.

 

A knock at the door sounded. Before answering, Findekáno whispered to Findaráto who was nestled into his arms. “Best be tidying up,” Findekáno urged. Groaning into Findekáno’s neck, Findaráto slowly sat up. Coming face to face with Findekáno his cheek’s flushed, Findaráto would never forget that he shared this with his elder cousin. Findaráto would remember this night when he conjured Songs of Power in his one final fight and he would almost vanquish his foe…almost.

 

“Let me help you,” Findekáno soothed, helping Findaráto tuck in here and there like an elder brother might fuss over a young brother after a first successful arrow in the heart of a target. Moving Findaráto over a bit, Findekáno positioned himself behind his cousin and gently combed his hair back with his fingers and braided them into one long plait that he tied off with the leather thong that had come undone. “There,” Findekáno announced, turning Findaráto who was limp like a rag doll to face him once more. “Are you ready?” Findekáno asked, moving towards the edge of the couch. Findaráto shook his head. Findekáno stood up and went to the door, quietly opening it, and whispering to whoever was on the other side. Some sounds were heard from the other side of the door. Findekáno turned to look at his cousin, asking once more, “Ready?”

 

Findaráto could only manage a smile, though he was able to beckon enter with his hand whoever was on the other side of the door. Makalaurë peeked in from around the door. Findekáno pulled him in and motioned to another person standing behind Makalaurë to enter. Angaráto followed behind with a large bowl filled with water.

 

Makalaurë sat next to Findaráto who was clothed in his sleeping tunic while Angaráto sat at his feet. Artanis appeared momentarily, carrying an assortment of vials. Gently Angaráto pulled Findaráto’s feet into the water, his hands washing and massaging. As he did this, Artanis sorted through the vials adding drops of the fragrant oils to the water. Once satisfied with the concoction, she opened the largest vile and vigorously rubbed the oil on her hands, warming it up. Angaráto did the same. Both siblings massaged Findaráto’s legs, beginning with his thighs, working towards the calves, then the feet. They were silent as they tended to their task, lovingly sharing this moment with their brother who would soon be betrothed to Amarië. The irony of what had just occurred and what it portended was not lost on all gathered there. If Amarië were ever to know what was expected of the scions of Finwë she would most certainly not choose Findaráto as her bonded mate, no matter her love for him. But the House of Finwë was bound to older rites, customs born of blood and bone that no Law or Custom written on paper could overshadow.

 

Makalaurë, began his part, quietly humming an old nursery rhyme. He added a word here and there, but the words were little unchanged from the child’s song. Yet no longer did the nursery rhyme tell the story of a lost child finding his way across the darkness that was the outerlands. Instead the story told was one more primal, more ancient that told of the awakening by Cuiviénen. Makalaurë’s voice grew louder but not so loud it would shake the walls for Makalaurë was singing a Song of Power, using his Song to paint the colors that appeared behind Findaráto’s closed eyes. Makalaurë took Findaráto on the same currents as the desire Findekáno had earlier conjured, but instead of the ecstasy of sex, Findaráto found a river of matter: infinite and shimmering and fading to darkness all at once.

 

Findaráto understood that this was the heart of the music of creation. His thoughts tumbled ahead of him excited as he allowed his fëa to dive into the current. _So this was where one drew the music for Songs of Power_ , he considered. And he had a vision of a people, a people different than him, and he was under the stars of Varda, though instead of distant, the stars were overhead and Findaráto sang, but the image faded replaced by other images, other shapes and colors molded by Song. It was said only a few could wield the Songs of Power and now Findaráto understood why. He understood! It made sense! The Laws and Customs, the banning of certain carnal acts, forbidden to curtail the inherent power of the First Born, to make sure the Blessed Realm remained cleansed. The Valar turned from Arda Marred, but they failed to see that there was power and beauty in the marring because creation always found a way.

 

Findaráto had been blinded by the power of the Laws and Customs, customs that dictated elven desire would diminish: oh how the Valar had damned the elves to misery, to war with their own bodies when the diminishment of that desire did not come! But now Findaráto understood why the Valar did not want the elves to access that inner ecstasy because it was a bridge to Power. So much effort poured into breaking the temple of the body. But now he—Findaráto Arafinwion—was a wielder of Songs of Power, one in the long line of Finwë that was thus come of age.

 

And yet before this night, Findaráto had feared the ancient ritual that he had only heard whispered about. But Findaráto’s thirst for knowledge and his hunger for desire made him run head long and plunge into what had been an abyss of unknowing. Now he knew.

 

Findaráto focused once more on Makalaurë’s voice. Slowly Findaráto began to sing, but the melody, the feel of his voice was unlike anything that had come before. Though his voice was a mere whisper, it trembled with a heady energy. His voice made manifest the currents of the river he had seen in his thoughts, the energy rippling through the Song, filling the edges of sound with solid matter, the word and melody weaving into themselves so they became infinite, a churning vortex of Power unleashed.

 

The Song ended. Findaráto, who was now standing, opened his eyes and saw the room was filled with a brilliance as if the light of the stars had been captured and brought down to them. His siblings, who sat at his feet, were luminescent and translucent, but Makalaurë was the brightest, his hair transformed into a crown of light. Abruptly the brilliant light darkened and Findaráto was plunged back into the mundane colors of his world. Angaráto and Artanis were once more solid and Makalaurë looked at him with knowledge in his eyes.

 

“Where is Findekáno?” Findaráto asked, seeking the person who had given him this Gift. At this Angaráto and Artanis turned their attention towards Makalaurë. Findaráto did not miss the look of apprehension that appeared momentarily on their faces.

 

“Is there something I should know?” Findaráto asked, turning towards Makalaurë.

 

Makalaurë sighed, running his hands through his hair. As if ending a silent argument with himself, Makalaurë shrugged his shoulders. “If you must know, Findekáno is speaking with Maitimo at this moment.”

 

“Maitimo is here?” Findaráto replied, surprised by the revelation. Findaráto was no fool. He understood that he had asked much of Findekáno to guide him through the ritual, but none who had done this before had been in Findekáno’s position.

 

Artanis stood. The air about her seemed to catch the remaining fragments of brilliance that the Songs of Power had conjured. “I asked you not to let Findekáno guide you on the path, but neither you nor he seemed to heed my council.” Artanis turned to face her eldest brother. “Ingo, Findekáno’s heart is not free to give as yours or mine.”

 

Findaráto looked down, unsure how to answer his sister. Findekáno and Findaráto had discussed this, but the ritual bound them: Findekáno had been called to guide Findaráto by a magic older than any of the power that bound them to Arda. “I know this,” he whispered, regret softening his voice, “But what were we to do?”

 

Angaráto interrupted, ever the pragmatist, “There was _nothing_ you both could do. Findekáno was called to guide you and he has done as any one of us would have done for our kin.” Angaráto spared Artanis a sharp look.

 

Artanis was not daunted. “Nevertheless, there should have been more _care_ from the both of you for Maitimo in all of this.”

 

The group said nothing. Of course, Artanis, as always, was right.

 

“Go bathe,” she directed Findaráto. “You will speak with Maitimo and hear him out.”

 

Makalaurë closed his eyes, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “It is best you do this,” he agreed, taking his leave and quietly closing the door behind him.


	3. And then there was three

Maitimo sat on the bed, waiting for Findekáno to finish his bath. Maitimo wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the moment. Of course Findekáno had to wash up, cleanse himself, but Maitimo could not help be irate that he sat and waited as his lover washed away the semen and sweat of another. “Manwë’s Balls!” Maitimo cursed as he sprang up from the bed to pace the length of the small guest room in Arafinwë’s home.

 

Findekáno emerged from the washroom, clothed in a light linen tunic, loose trousers, and bare feet. His wet hair was tied up in a knot at the top of his head. He had no words to say to Maitimo lest they be a fumbling apology. This situation was entirely out of their control but the intimacy demanded more care in the matter, but Findekáno was at a loss how to proceed.

 

Maitimo paused, his eyes inspecting Findekáno. “If I were not so undone I would kiss you… in this moment you are so beautiful.” Left unsaid was the question that gnawed at Maitimo, what he truly wanted to ask Findekáno: _Did you enjoy it? Will you now look upon Findaráto with a new desire, kindled by the Gift you have given him?_

 

Findekáno’s shoulders slumped, his eyes finding the patterns on the tapestry at his feet easier to look upon than the fierce and tender grey eyes that refused to look away from him. They stood like this for a while, each silent. While Maitimo did not tear his eyes away from Findekáno, Findekáno could manage only a glance here and there. Neither dared spare first words for fear that what would come out might be later regretted.

 

Findekáno was saved from his misery by a knock on the door. Makalaurë opened the door observing the tension between his brother and cousin. “Findaráto wishes to speak with both of you,” Makalaurë informed the miserable pair, and before Maitimo could protest, Makalaurë was standing before him. “You will do this,” Makalaurë’s voice was stern. Maitimo relaxed, a defeated release of the tension he carried. Of course the three of them needed to speak.

 

)()()()(

 

Before entering Findaráto’s rooms, Findekáno turned to Maitimo. “It may be best you speak with him first.” Findekáno didn’t think he could look upon Findaráto without remembering the desire that burned between them. Maitimo would certainly see this. It was unavoidable: desire, after all, was the element that allowed one to enter the infinite center from which Song originated. There were those who could enter that place through a sort of meditation but that practice had been long left behind, replaced with prayer and order imposed by the Valar. The old priests and priestesses that wielded this skill had remained on the other side, chosen not to Journey, and so all that was left to the scions of Finwë was the quotidian and heretical practice of bodily desire.

 

Head against the door, Findekáno spoke, “You understand what this ritual encompasses. Neither Findaráto nor I could turn away the call to do this together.” Turning to look at Maitimo, Findekáno confessed, “You well know desire is at the heart of it for are we not of the House of Finwë?” Findekáno pressed his nose into the door, closing his eyes.

 

Maitimo clenched his teeth, unwilling to let his first response spill out. “I know this,” he answered through gritted teeth, “but it hurts nonetheless.”

 

Findekáno pushed away from the door. “I love you Maitimo. This changes none of that.”

 

“Does it not?” Maitimo replied, exasperated. It seemed they were going to have this conversation in this moment, with Findaráto on the other side of the door.

 

“It changes nothing,” Findekáno insisted, grabbing Maitimo’s hand in his own. “Or tell me, does your heart desire Lalwen?”

 

Maitimo was taken aback. “Of course not Findekáno, but this is different.”

 

“How so?” Findekáno asked, though he knew the answer to that question.

 

“Her heart was given to no person nor was mine.” Maitimo extricated his hand from Findekáno’s. “Her heart was not in love with another. This damned ritual still relies on laws and customs, don't you see?” Maitimo spoke, his voice frantic.

 

Findekáno felt his heart in his mouth. “I do…” he admitted wearily.

 

“For a fucking old law that pronounces that no bound heart will be asked to be a part of the Gift, most are spared, but you and I are not spared. For these Laws we now live do not allow us to bind our heart. How is this fair?”

 

“It is not,” Findekáno whispered, every inch of his body wanting to embrace Maitimo, but he knew it was not best.

 

The door behind them opened. Findaráto allowed himself in. “It is not fair,” he spoke steadily.” Maitimo and Findekáno turned around to face him, surprised by his appearance. “And for this I will always be indebted to the both of you.. for in taking Findekáno--I did not realize it then--I also took you Maitimo.”

 

Maitimo stepped back. “I do not understand,” Maitimo replied, looking between Findekáno and Findaráto.

 

Findaráto looked to Findekáno, knowing that the same desire he felt for his cousin burned in Findekáno’s heart. It would wear off eventually but not in this moment. With a new sense of power, Findaráto spoke once more to Maitimo. “I did not see it then, but I know now that it should have been the both of you to show me the Gift.”

 

Findaráto focused on Maitimo, his body glimmering with the currents of the ritual.

 

“What do you intend?” Maitimo asked, his voice unsteady.

 

“I intend to set this right,” Findaráto answered, stepping in Maitimo’s direction. With his hand Findaráto undid the towel wrapped around his hips.

 

Maitimo hissed. “Findaráto no!” But as he said no, Maitimo saw the look of hunger on Findekáno’s face.

 

Maitimo took a step back, but Findaráto quickly closed the space between them. “If you do not desire this you can leave,” Findaráto offered, continuing to close the space between them. But Maitimo did not desire to leave. The power that emanated from Findaráto enveloped him, pulled him into that incipient place that had been the desire born of the ritual: a desire simple and carnal, no more.

 

“Findekáno?” Maitimo shuddered, his sight falling away to reveal a more lustrous tapestry of colors and sensations than that of the mundane.

 

Findekáno answered, pulling Findaráto away from Maitimo. In one smooth move, Findaráto was in Findekáno’s arms. “Come Maitimo,” Findekáno commanded. Maitimo moved, pulled like a comet come too close to a planet into its orbit. Trembling, Maitimo found himself drawn into Findaráto. Findekáno first kissed Maitimo, then moved to kiss Findaráto. Pulling away from them both, Findekáno watched as Findaráto hungrily devoured Maitimo with his lips. Maitimo responded.

 

What happened after they well could not say, or rather, chose not to say. Clothes was torn off, bodies tangled and fell to the floor. Findaráto was penetrated for the first time, though what he would take away from that night was watching how Findekáno and Maitimo made love. It struck him as he watched them that theirs was a type of love he did not yet know and might not ever, and he also was struck by a moment of intense sorrow: their’s would not last. None of them would, but before Findaráto could loose himself in what he saw of the future, Maitimo pulled him into the space between he and Findekáno.

 

After a night of frenzied love making, the three remained tangled in one another, sleep threatening to overtake them. “Thank you,” Maitimo whispered to Findaráto. “Thank you for giving me back Findekáno.” Findekáno smiled but said nothing.

 

“I, for my part,” Findaráto smiled, “will always treasure this moment.”

 

“Let it be what cleaves us together though dark days may come,” Findekáno offered.

 

Findaráto beamed. His happiness was complete in this moment, and yet they all knew that a storm was descending upon Tirion.

 

“Let it be thus,” Maitimo whispered, their last words as slept claimed them.

 

)()()()(

 

Beren cowered as Finrod grew in stature, his voice mighty as he sang Songs about the Elder days, Songs of his youth, but Sauron threw back darker words, overcame the beauty of Finrod’s images. Sauron’s discordant song overcame the power of Finrod’s Song. But Finrod would not be undone, singing and spinning into being all that was love and the song of birds and the enchantment of green things.

 

 _“Then the gloom gathered; darkness growing_  
_In Valinor, the red blood flowing_  
  _Beside the sea, where the Noldor slew_  
   _The Foamriders, and stealing drew_  
   _Their white ships with their white sails_  
   _From lamplit havens. The wind wails,_  
   _The wolf howls. The ravens flee._  
   _The ice mutters in the mouths of the sea._  
  _The captives sad in Angband mourn,_  
  _Thunder rumbles, the fires burn” [1]_  
_And darkness finds thy lovers three*_  
_A promise broken, thou shalt not cleave to thee*_

And Finrod fell before Sauron’s throne. Though it was not discovered who he was, Finrod wore a bitter smile, and the memory of that time long ago, in the days of their youth, offered him some comfort. “Let it be thus,” Finrod whispered as the captives were taken to their deaths.

 

The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Lines directly from Tolkien, The Lay of Lethian.  
> * The last two lines are my own.


End file.
